You are awakened by a dousing of water on your now naked body surrounded by fiends laughing and leering at you. They quiet down quickly as a heavy dragging sound approaches.
Coming through the door is a truly horrific sight, a snake bodied fiend topped by a womans torso with 6 arms. She glares at you coldly and unemotional and begins speaking in a language you understand.
The rules here are simple, you will do what we want, when we want and how we want it done" Any questions meat?
Simon reflexively gasps awake as the water hits him.
Eyeing the fiend warily Simon quietly mutters
"None."
His internal monologue is a bit more verbose.
"Well, S**t. This can't be good and I'm definitely not fighting my way out of here. Stay quiet. Go as unnoticed as possible and look for opportunity to exploit. Like back in Jamalphia only a lot nastier."
Ravens smirks, his hands clenching into fists. He releases, knowing that his overt anger at his own failure will not serve him here.
"You can believe what you want to believe," Ravens replies with all the scorn he can muster. "But if you need me to tend to your womanly needs, you have but to change your form to something more..suitable," Ravens replies smugly.
Ravens uses what is left of the water to turn the dust on his arms into muddy streaks; then using the water to mop his hair back out of his face. He gives the 'woman' a come hither flirt and wink, looking her up and down. It is not very smooth nor attractive.
Ravens smirks, his hands clenching into fists. He releases, knowing that his overt anger at his own failure will not serve him here.
"You can believe what you want to believe," Ravens replies with all the scorn he can muster. "But if you need me to tend to your womanly needs, you have but to change your form to something more..suitable," Ravens replies smugly.
Ravens uses what is left of the water to turn the dust on his arms into muddy streaks; then using the water to mop his hair back out of his face. He gives the 'woman' a come hither flirt and wink, looking her up and down. It is not very attractive nor well done.
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Dr. Theoclastus Muspelwinter Qadathra Ben Thoneph Von Junst Flying Pyramid, Esquire - better known to many as the Skiron Killer (for the plague wind spirit evoked by the blighted, withered, and desiccated manner in which he left his many sacrificial victims, every fourth one except the fifth-fourth having been a prominent Cleric) - opens his eyes and stares at the marilith's lips as she speaks.
"A great Basset hound, with phosphorescent flanks,a heart of silver, a scorpion's sting for a tongue, and two eyes made out of coal! Have you seen it???"
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The dancer dreams of mist and melody, of cold iron chains and gnashing teeth before the sudden descent from the slumberlands into the waiting jaws of frost and mockery rouse her to the waking world once more. It is not the first time she has awoken to a chorus of jeers, nor the first she has roused stripped of her possessions and laid bare before the eyes of a crowd; nor does she feel she has any need to hide, her body was earned of labors many and blood shed much, these would not be the first to gaze upon her with eager lust or longing, though she had no intentions of allowing them more than visual observation.
What was a new experience, on the other hand, was the collective of these slavering observers. Even in the deepest pits of the shadows or the most eldritch woods of her homeland she had never seen creatures so despicable or depraved as the appearance of these beasts. By the Blight, she thinks, glancing around at her apparent captors. What manner of monstrosity have these madmen offered me up to? Is this their idea of a fitting sentence for decimation? What scion of madness have the Unseelie warred against that these are their sentinels?
As quickly as the laughter began it is silenced, and it only takes her moments to notice the arrival of the abomination that is clearly master of these miserable, misbegotten creatures. The towering six-armed woman dwarfs the dancer, even without the looping coils of her enormous serpentine extremity; furthermore, each of those mighty limbs clutches deadly weaponry, while her own hands are far too empty. She could arm herself with fang and claw if she were to delve into the masquerade now, but just a glance at the flayer's hide is enough to suggest to her that that skin is beyond the ability of her talons to pierce.
She answers the commandant's inquiry with a simple gesture. "Nae, it is understood," she replies, voice low and wary. For now she will play the part of the captive prey, to be welcomed into the lair of the predator, set aside to be devoured at another time perhaps; for now, this is her only hope of survival, to wait and seek for the opportunity to become the predator once again.
Ta'Ruk allows the shock of the water hitting his body to manifest itself on his face for a brief second before collecting himself.
He rises slowly to study his captors. "Cowardly dogs," he mutters to himself as the fiends quickly quiet when their leader approaches.
He watches coldly as the 6 legged demon slithers in. He listens as she barks her instructions. "As you commmand madam," he answers evenly. "Yes, I do have one question. I had a journal among my personal effects. Nothing much, just some odd, random observations. May I keep the book and pen in my cell?"
Simon,Skiron and Jeneva,You are escorted roughly to another room and issued your uniform. Nothing more than a burlap sack with a hole in the head.
Ravens You must make a will save(DC 20) for each hit. If you fail you are paralyzed with the most godawful pain you have ever felt
Please make a will save(DC20) or you are paralyzed with the most godawful pain you have ever felt.
Edit: Also Jeneva you notice that none of these fiends you have seen have any sort of weaponry.
If you are not paralyzed...
"Yes, I do have one question. I had a journal among my personal effects. Nothing much, just some odd, random observations. May I keep the book and pen in my cell?"
Oh of course, anything else I can get to make your stay more comfortable She says condescendingly
One of the guards barks at you You are to address her as Taskmistress
And he proceeds to whip you again
Will Save (DC20) please.
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Edit: Also Jeneva you notice that none of these fiends you have seen have any sort of weaponry.
Not that they have need of it, judging by the many claws and befanged mouths the dancer observes in her captors. She follows their lead without resistance, holding back the urge to bite against the hand that grasps, at least for the time being.
She wears the unpleasant garment without comment, at once scorning its utilitarian design and its callous texture while taking small comfort in its obstruction to the elements she would no doubt shortly be exposed to - her lively blood spared her the rigors of the most mundane extremes of heat and cold, but this did not spare her the general discomfort of being drenched and left to drip.
She waits quietly to be ushered on to her next destination, contemplating adjustments to be made to the limited resource of the frugal fabric to at least make bearing its presence more tolerable until more thorough, more suitable garments can be acquired.
The whip, huh? I shall explain to her that she can keep her current form if it means so much to her...
Ravens looks at the whip with a brave sneer, having faced similar (or worse) in the past.
Will save
Ravens would cry out in the shock of pain that ravages his body...he wishes he could gasp, as if that would ease the pain.
Will save
Ravens gasps for a moment...
Will save
...then feels the pain again, worse this time. He tries to cry again and fails.
Will save
And the pain triples, his mind frozen, hurting, feeling.
Will save
When he can move again, Ravens falls to his knees, gasping and crawling at the ground.
You piddlespotted yourself good.
You idiot.
The whip rips through Ta'ruk's scaly bare skin. He feels his extremities go numb as his brain tries to stop the searing pain. He falls to the ground paralyzed.
Any thought of retrieving his notebook flees in the onslaught from the whip.
@Ravens: The Taskmistress asks you Any more comments meat
@Ta'ruk: Yes it is a whip of fire so you can take your resistance.
If you are both feeling a little more compliant:
Simon waits quietly in his cell. He can hear the screams of anguish from his fellow inmates presumably. He cringes slightly our of reflex. Whatever is happening sounds horrible.
He needs to feign compliance until he can find an opening to escape. He's sure he want escape punishment entirely. They're fiends. He's probably on a daily torture checklist or something. Hell's functionaries are detail oriented in nothing else.
However, if he pretends to comply he may escape the worst of the strap. His heritage will be of no use there though.
Quietly he sits in his cell. Huddling in a dark corner. Go unseen. Be one with the shadow.
Stealth
He knows he can defend himself if needed, but he'll probably only get one shot. Better save it for when it will count the most.
He looks for signs of weakness in his cell or simply anything he might be able to make use of.
Perception
All:Upon exiting the indoctrination center, you immediately feel a blast of hot air much like a blow dryer in your face. The sky is a perpetual red twilight streaked with black smoke. You notice you are on flat plateau roughly 500' circular In the distance you see jagged peaks shimmering with heat you also pick up that there are no walls. The guards catch your gaze and drag you over to the edge of the plateau. It is roughly a 400' drop into a slavering mass of demonkind. The guard says Anytime things get to tough, just jump, I've wagered that you will be the first one meat
You are then shown to a long house made of some kind of wood, it is devoid of any furnishings. You will rest here, when you are allowed to rest meat.
You are then taken over to a shed and issued a sledgehammer and taken to a giant pile of basalt. Now get to work meat
Having been hauled to the edge and hung over momentarily, Simon got a good look at the gibbering horde below. He knew he could make it down safely, but what would be the point if you're torn to bits immediately after. What he wouldn't give to know how to shift between the planes.
Not being particularly strong Simon struggles slightly to lift the hammer. Speed and accuracy were more his forte than brute force. He does his best with the Basalt, but it's not especially effective.
Still though. He knows he must do his best to blend in and be underestimated until the time is right. Better to be underestimated for certain. Those who make a show of bravery or other badassery will most likely be beaten within an inch of their lives.
"Where the hell are we anyway? Literally in hell? "
Simon looks around trying to get his bearings.
Untrained Knowledge planes
General Perception to look for opportunities.
percep
"Any more comments, Meat?"
Ravens spends more than the 11 rounds regaining his feet...and his control. When he is finally able to stare at the Taskmistress, he only seems mostly broken.
"You still haven't told me what you want. I assume there is a point to all this. Maybe you'd need to screech less if you could be more clear."
Ravens closes his eyes waiting for the pain that is sure to follow.
damage
Will
Will
Will
Will
Will
By the time Ravens is done crying, he accepts his burlap sack between sobs and on buckling knees.
You're still an idiot. You piddlespotting idiot. Why?
Piddlespot you.
Piddlespot all of you. And me.
Ravens looks over the edge of the cliff, using this opportunity to spit the blood that had pooled in his mouth when he bit his tongue during his indoctrination. He watches his bloodsyruppy gobbule disappear into the masses below.
He trudges slowly, finding his legs, and trying to wear his whip welts as a badge of honor...but when he is still softly sobbing, that is rather difficult.
Ravens spits again near the 'resthouse'.
Should I ask if this is where I should take its mother after our date?
No, please, no. No more pain.
Ravens looks at the sledgehammer and at the rock.
Should I ask if he wants the same kind of pounding I gave...
No, please, no. No more pain.
Ravens knees buckle and he reaches for the hammer...deciding whether to speak or hammer.
.
Where the hell are we anyway? Literally in hell?
Untrained Knowledge planes 1d20+2
Simon, you know that you ain't on the prime material plane, It could be hell or one of the endless layers of the abyss or whatever they are calling the NE planes nowadays or...
Simon Vainly pounds at the Basalt as the newcomer is unceremoniously dropped off. Once the guard leaves Simon speaks very quietly between hammer blows.
To Ravens "You look new here like me." Noticing the copious whip marks he adds "You must have been one of them I heard screaming earlier. What'd you try to do? Escape or just smart off to one of the jailers?"
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The dancer allows herself to be shuttled about, hauled like the satchel of flesh and carrion these creatures have deigned her to be. Surely a demoralizing tactic, but perhaps insult to injury, with the addition of the overwhelming forces penning her in, their vast array of natural armaments (and likely magic, judging by the looks of some of them, though she was no scholar of the realms beyond to make such an estimation under any authority) in comparison to her own empty hands, and the humiliating option of this caustic garment's mediocre comforts or to discard it and bare all not only before the eyes of these untoward entities but also her fellow prisoners, and by such likely bare herself to the potential of further abuse "invited" by her refusal to garb herself... both by her cage-keepers and by senior prisoners who might decide that the pleasures of her flesh are their rightful due, due to longevity or superior strength.
She leaves herself clad in sackcloth, deeming the latter a greater danger than a trial of minor discomfort.
At least the weather is tolerable. Warm, stifling perhaps, but not a temperature she is incapable of operating in, neither toward the inferno nor the iceberg. She has survived worse than this, in that regard, and with her innate tolerances the heat is almost comfortable.
After her tour of introduction is complete she is guided to a quarry and left with a mallet and a tower of labor undone. Further insult and underestimation, or perhaps not if the creatures are so thoroughly certain of their superior capabilities or at least superior numbers, to hand their prisoners weapons so freely yet not even bother with the illusion of shackles.
The dancer spares a moment to gauge her surroundings, taking a swift mental evaluation of the surroundings, the present enforcers, and her companions in this Eldest-forgotten pit of entropy. She takes up the bludgeon and sets to labor with ease and fluidity, not even bothering to don a mask for the aid of this menial task, deeming the labor unworthy of demonstrating her talents to this unappreciative crowd. Yet as she labors her eyes are far from still, taking in her surroundings and analyzing her new-found peers, tabulating anything of any worth she can discern into a ledger stored deep within her thoughts.
"And then there were three." Simon says as he swings his hammer feebly.
Ta'ruk doesn't resist as the guard drags him to the edge of the plateau. He looks down at the writhing mass of demons below, Down is not the way out. Making myself useful, that may be the ticket. He follows the demon guard to the bunk house and peers in. Then he continues to follow to the basalt pile. Well, at least I will be able to increase my strength.
Ta'ruk is short in stature but very stout. He is 5'7" tall with black hair that accentuate the orange glow of his eyes. Where he is uncovered by his prison sack, the faint outline of pale green scales can be seen.
Taking his place near three other prisoners, he looks at their relatively unstained uniform sacks surmising that they are new to this prison as well. Deftly picking up the sledgehammer, he sets to breaking off small chunks of basalt with precise, powerful blows.
Simon's entire body below his neck is covered in various tribal scars. They all look cohesive, but when you look closely you can make out some shapes. A feather, a shield, a beartrap, a spiked ball, etc.
Though his muscle mass is merely average, his movements belie a cat like grace.
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The woman is tall of figure and statuesque of form, standing some over six feet and broad of chest and shoulder, arms and legs long and muscular and littered with scars, clearly a creature made for the rigors of a life of labor and war; the simplistic garment is only just sufficient to provide her an acceptable level of modesty, not that she appears to notice. The slight blue-violet tinge to her skin is clearly not normal for a human, nor the topaz glitter of her gemlike irises. Her hair appears grey with hints of icy blue and rose maroon, though how much of that is tinted by the dust of her capture and the silt of this quarry is difficult to ascertain.
She acknowledges her fellow-captives with little more than a glance and a nod until at last the first, one of the two men bearing the tell-tale limping and twitching of a fresh lashing, speaks up. "So it seems, if we are to labor together, perhaps four now, if not more in time." She glances to the second man, still lying in the dirt reaching for his mallet, clearly in agony. "Are his wounds unto death? He looks too unweathered to be a captive of long." All the while her work at the stones neither slows nor wavers, the steady rhythm of the hammer beating a familiar drum in the alien song of this place.
"I suspect several of us are new."
Simon says quietly and coldly.
Ravens is about to open his yaphole...and instead picks up the hammer. The has muscles, not as burly as some, but burlier than others. A human...maybe a Taldan, maybe a Chelaxian, some Andoran blood...his ethnicity is not strong in any direction.
If he minds wearing only a sack or the dust, he does not let on. He's not all, under 6'...and, as long as he keeps his skin from being flayed completely off, might weigh close to 180 lbs.
The swings the hammer once ineptly, trying to get used to the weight and grip.
To Ravens "You look new here like me." Noticing the copious whip marks he adds "You must have been one of them I heard screaming earlier. What'd you try to do? Escape or just smart off to one of the jailers?"
Ravens shoots Simon a look, his eyes taking in the man quickly.
Perception
"You've fallen far, angelblood. I was whipped for asking stupid questions...you should avoid that."
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As the man rises and joins the labor, the dancer observes her new companions, for lack of a better word, with a scrutinous eye. She is primarily concerned that, grouped together as they are, failings of one to keep pace with the expectations of their jailers would lead to lashes for them all. Thankfully the wounded stranger appears not worse enough for wear to prevent him joining the drudgery.
"I don't suppose any of you would be familiar with the manner of monstrosity whose maws we have been cast to," she asks after a few moments, gesturing one shoulder vaguely toward wherever the nearest array of guards is stationed. "I have not had the ... pleasure ... of being introduced to such beasts of bastardry before."
"When I initially noticed my jailers and surroundings it wasn't difficult to draw the conclusion that smarting off would not bode well for me. I avoided that. In a place like this it's best to be as underestimated as possible."
after a short pause
"I'm assuming you want out of here as much as I do. If either of you find anything that can be used to escape I'm interested in helping. If any of us are going to get out we may have to work together. I don't know you, but enemy of my enemy..." Simon leaves the remainder of the well known saying unsaid.
To Jeneva's question.
"Devils I think, but I don't know more than that."
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She nods, accepting the answer. Fiends of any sort were outside her normal purview, the sorts of targets she was usually beset upon by her masters rarely made such creatures their pawns... or were made pawns of by such, as the case may be.
All the more why her containment here was a mystery in itself. She had expected a prison... but this was above and beyond anything she might have dreamed.
"I am not averse to your suggestion," she says plainly. "Regardless, bound as we are together, perhaps introductions might be useful, or at least something by which we may call another beyond 'hey you'." She smirks wryly at the suggestion, then resumes pounding away at the stone. "I am called, among other things, Jeneva. Yourself?"
"Simon." Says the lithe little golden haired man.
"We need more information about this place. Presumably they have stored our gear somewhere. If they stored our gear they may have others. I don't have anything to get us off this accursed plane, but someone else might. Keep an eye out for clues about such things."
"It's not a great plan, but it's the best I can think of at the moment. I am open to other suggestions though. "
"...manner of monstrosity whose maws we have been cast to."
Ravens spins the hammer as if deflecting Jeneva's question. He gives the briefest shake of the head as he knows little of extraplanar beings.
The only maws that I take torment from are mine own.
'smarting off is bad, mmmkay?'
Ravens ignores the obvious sermon. He snorts, keeping his response in quiet tones.
"Underestimated? So little you know. I learned that what they did to me did not kill me. I learned that I am stronger than their whips...because I am here now. I tested them and they failed, Angelblood. They are weak. A few words drove them to anger...they have little discipline," Ravens hushes.
"Escape? Hmmm. I am Ravens."
Ravens has yet to actually use the hammer on stone.
"...manner of monstrosity whose maws we have been cast to."Ravens spins the hammer as if deflecting Jeneva's question. He gives the briefest shake of the head as he knows little of extraplanar beings.
The only maws that I take torment from are mine own.
'smarting off is bad, mmmkay?'Ravens ignores the obvious sermon. He snorts, keeping his response in quiet tones.
"Underestimated? So little you know. I learned that what they did to me did not kill me. I learned that I am stronger than their whips...because I am here now. I tested them and they failed, Angelblood. They are weak. A few words drove them to anger...they have little discipline," Ravens hushes.
"Escape? Hmmm. I am Ravens."
Ravens has yet to actually use the hammer on stone.
"So have I, yet my back is unblistered." Simon says with a slight smirk at the man. "Also, we're in a prison. If they'd wanted us dead there were far less elaborate ways to do it than to send us here. I believe whips are the least that they can bring to bear should the need arise. "
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They'd kept Skiron a bit long. He'd thought he was delivering an impromptu lecture, and they'd thought they were administering an emergency interrogation (the way he was going on had given them actual pause - this prisoner might be one of those that actually came with a learning curve). After a few extra minutes, he is deposited at the quarry.
His build is lean, his hair platinum, his skin relatively pale with a texture almost midway between wax and ceramic and a faint opalescent sheen visible from certain angles, his eyes...one prefers not to look into for very long.
His hands pick up his hammer, but his mind is clearly somewhere else. His eyes scan the horizon, and his mouth develops a contemptuous sneer. "It's a small world, after all. The layer beneath holds some mysteries, I suppose, but no matter; they're small enough that they can remain that way." He then appears to become aware he has less hostile company. "Take heart! It's only a matter of time!" He scans the granite pile for fragile points, and proceeds to move about taking comparatively gentle, but surprisingly effective, swings.
Fast forward a few days...
You are starting to get a feel for how this prison functions, Basically as long as you stay completely compliant your beatings are kept to a minimum. You wake early, work long. Your meals of which there are 2 a day consist of roasted "meat" and rice with maggots.
Looking at the other prisoners, it is obvious you are the newest arrivals. All of them are showing signs of malnourishement and all bear scars from not only the whip but other cruel implements. Some have missing eyes, ears or appendages.
Your fiendish guardians who outnumber the prisoners are a different matter entirely. On any given day they can be utterly cruel or utterly bored and unconcerned about you, you even notice that prisoners who were almost chummy with one of the guards on one day are getting beaten and cut up by the same guard the next.
This is where the sandbox begins...
Simon will try to cast detect magic when no one is looking and maintain concentration as log as possible. He want's to get a feel for where high concentrations may be. Magic is most likely going to be the key to getting out of here.
I was waiting for one of you magicky types to try something like that.
Simon: You realize you cannot cast a spell, SLA, SU anything. There is some kind of blockage interfering with not only arcane but divine as well.
Skiron:
I was waiting for one of you magicky types to try something like that.
Simon: You realize you cannot cast a spell, SLA, SU anything. There is some kind of blockage interfering with not only arcane but divine as well.
"Well, sh*t." Simon thinks to himself.
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The dancer spends her days working, avoiding unnecessary contact with other prisoners outside her immediate circle; she figures that she and her four new-come companions are too recent to have forged alliances within the prison with anyone else, and thus the opportunity for betrayal is far narrower than 'twould be risked to fraternize with any of the more senior prisoners. Little to gain, and much to be lost, if their opportunity to escape - when it came - was to be successfully seized. To do otherwise was to court sabotage.
Instead, she busies herself to the task of gathering information, beginning with the guards. She takes the time to examine each as they patrol, exchange roles, and go about their labors and abuses. Since their behavior patterns seem unpredictable at best - more capricious than the most flippant sprite, these, it seems - she focuses on other features: their appearances, their patterns, their locations, their apparent duty or role, and perhaps most importantly any armament, armor, or magic they display.
Arcana
Spellcraft
Instead, she busies herself to the task of gathering information, beginning with the guards. She takes the time to examine each as they patrol, exchange roles, and go about their labors and abuses. Since their behavior patterns seem unpredictable at best - more capricious than the most flippant sprite, these, it seems - she focuses on other features: their appearances
Every guard you have seen is your basic big red dude with horns
their patterns, their locations, their apparent duty or role,
They meander around the camp always having superior numbers in areas where prisoners are gathered en masse i.e the rock pile. There is always a large contingent gathered around a rather modest building away from everything. Also You note The Taskmistress makes her rounds in the morning and evening.
and perhaps most importantly any armament, armor, or magic they display.
The guards wear no armor and carry no weapons, They are able to all of the standard demon abilities as well as summon that horrible flaming whip out of thin air, every once in a while you will note they can summon flaming swords or flails.
No rolls needed, after a few days you can't miss this stuff
Arcana 1d20+6
Spellcraft1d20+6
Simon: you have in fact seen the guards using SLA's
When the core group is near the quarry Simon speaks to them in hushed tones.
"We cant use magic, but they can apparently. There's a powerful spell at play in this area, but I do not know which one or what it does beyond the obvious. Anyone else figure anything out?"
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"I've never heard of it before, but it is...innovative. It enables the wizard who cast it to become almost a petty deity of magic in their own right, dictating who may use magic of almost any sort, and who may not - whether they may do this at a whim thereafter, or must plan on some sort of finite rubric when casting, I'm unsure. I'm inclined to guess it encircles the whole of this demiplane, like a bow on the worst present you've ever received."
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"All too inconvenient," Jeneva mutters, "but logical in its own twisted way for a prison. What better way for the inmates to lay claim to power than to bring magic superior to the warders' own into their midst? All else can be handled by limiting access to weaponry." She drives her mallet into a fresh pile of boulders for emphasis. "I suppose in a way it is no different than stripping a soldier of weapon and armor, it disarms the subjects, makes them necessarily complacent, or at least less volatile in battle."
After a few moments' work she continues, adding her own observations. "The guards are all but indecipherable from one another, save the serpentine. All seem to have access to flames forged into blades and edges drawn from the ether. Otherwise there seems to be little order to their procedures, save that they tend to gather in large numbers around here and places where other prisoners are congregated, and at that structure over there," she gestures with her head, keeping her gaze and posture pointed toward the rocks, "which I have yet to discern the purpose of. The only exception is, again, the serpentine - she makes rounds at morn and eve, but rarely appears otherwise. Though I would surmise she would be drawn out if sufficient chaos were conjured."
"So have I, yet my back is unblistered."
Unblistered? Unlike what I did to your... Ravens swings the hammer again, this time closer to the stone.
"You think you know what you know, Angelblood, but you are here just the same as me. You have not felt the lash of the whip...and I would hear more of your brave talk after you have felt it as I have."
* * *
As the days go by, Ravens neither endears, nor dis-endears himself to his local companions. He wounds heal slowly, both for that he probably acquires new ones daily as he tests the limits of this prison.
He, too, will walk about the grounds, learning how limited he is here as compared to when he roamed free on Golarion, wreaking havoc for pleasure of it. In this, he finds a lesson. And, of course, he rage grows.
Ravens will seeks any advantage he can over his jailers...or even his fellow prisoners.
"I prefer to learn from others mistakes than make my own. However, let's try to stay productive. Posturing isn't helpful. "
"If this is a finite plane then... An easy way to get prisoners in May also be our way out. if it's an item it's probably on the snake woman. For what good that does us. "